As Gerald Durrell observes in the Introduction, ""Britain seems to be a nation of frustrated zoo owners."" And, we would add, they tend to write about their efforts. Grahame's wildfowl farm in Suffolk, launched in 1964 with little knowledge and even less capital, started operations with a mongrel flock of hens and ""a quartet of wildly oversexed cockerels."" Since then he's enlarged his territory, increased the menagerie--ducks, geese, pheasant, goats, pigs--and witnessed randy frolics on the pond. This mildly amusing excursion to Daw's Hall features a covey of attractive critters, a house with a ""paranormal"" (ghost) dog, and a giant Dutch helper--6' 8""--who signed on in the early days and contributes substantially to the proceedings. Grahame expands easily on shovellers and migrant chiffchaffs, records a zany quest for Himalayan blood pheasant, and occasionally, upon government request, drops everything to drop in on Idi Amin, an old acquaintance from regiment days in Uganda. Breezy.